summer 78, yann tiersen

it kinda reminds me of him
it kinda reminds me of you
it kinda reminds me of daniel bruhl
of crying
of not speaking
of not being able to speak
of berlin and
mass destruction
it reminds me of space
of my mother
telling you i didn't believe
in anything anymore
of reading
of empty days and lying
of sweetness and
love
of questioning authority
the nineties
and all the events i've been
missing.
i guess it
just reminded me
of me.

the person i am becoming

turning out to be one of those human beings who smoke cigarretes in the park while reading david foster wallace, wearing a long camel coat, turtlenecks and red lipstick. leaving stains on plastic coffee cups and cigarette butts. having coffee in the same bar for years and buying used books. a human who is in comfort with their loneliness. a human who doesn't sleep very well and has a constant nausea that could maybe bring them closer to who they want to be. a human of gray winter days, who secretly begs for summer sunshine.